P R 

,5227 




Glass 

Book 



ADHELM and ETHELFLED 



8 Metrical gtep* 



BY 

J. J. RIPLEY, ESQ. 






— Joys has he that sings. But ah ! not such, 

Or seldom such, the hearers of his song. 

Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps 

Aware of nothing arduous in a task 

They never undertook, they little note 

His dangers or escapes, and haply find 

Their least amusement where he found the most 



LONDON : 

Printeo for tlje gurtw; 

AND SOLD BY EDWARD JEFFERY, COLONNADE, PALL-MALL. 



1818. 



PRIKTBD BY J- EVANS, LEICESTER STREET, LEICESTBR SQUARE. 



\? 



' 



j\l 



THE EARL OF CLARENDON, 

THIS LITTLE POEM, 

THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID AMONG HIS LORDSHIP'S POSSESSIONS 

IN A COUNTRY, THE BIRTH-PLACE 

OP 

HIS LORDSHIP'S ILLUSTRIOUS ANCESTOR, 

IS, WITH GRATEFUL RESPECT AND REGARD, 

DEDICATED, BY 

HIS LORDSHIP'S 
MOST OBEDIENT AND 

VERY HUMBLE SERVANT, 



J. J. RIPLEY. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

1 . — The Retrospect fc 1 

2. — The Profession 20 

3. — The Knell 35 

4. — The Relapse 53 

5. — The Narrative 65 

6. — The Narrative, concluded 88 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The Date of the Story related in the following 
Poem is supposed to be subsequent to the Year 1349, when 
Richard Duke of York, the only historical Personage 
mentioned, succeeded the Duke of Bedford as Regent of 
France. The time, comprehending the action which oc- 
casions the narrative, and the narrative itself, is one 
evening. 



ADHELM AND ETHELFLED. 



L 

" Peace to the dome, where, low and sweet, 
" In echoes doubling ere they fleet, 
" The measure of the solemn lay 
" Is softened — sinks — and dies away ! 
" Peace and calm joy V 

Twas thus_, of old, 
Some brother, when his vows were told, 
At Braden cried. 



The miii, which shed 
His bright farewell o'er Avon's bed, 
Had left a still and lovely eve 
Sacred t<> blest St. Genevieve; 

And, as her ministers retired 
From rites which with the day expired, 
They dropped a bead by every shrine, 
And, meekly bending at the sign, 
Crossed each a venerable front 
With holy water from the font. 

The dew, that summer eventide, 
Fell soft on Braden-hamlet side, 
And not a breeze sank from the brow 
Upon the brook and vale below : 
It was so silent and serene 
On every knoll of tufted green, 
Her cottagers were fain to say 
Their earthly state was past away ; 
As if its cares had been subdued 
By somewhat like beatitude, 



3 

And for their vigil they possessed 
Another world of peace and rest. 

But, when the moon shone bright and high 
Above the cloudless eastern sky, 
And broader lights and shadows fell 
On holy Braden's quiet cell, 
The din of rustic mirth began, 
Around the laugh and whistle ran, 
And shepherds bade their song arise, 
With all the rude festivities, 
Which, obsolete to tastes refined, 
Were unforgotten by the hind, 
Who, simply pious, every year 
Loved to resume and keep them here, 
('Spite of the world's capricious will, 
Unrivalled, and inspiring still) 
Though many snows had beat upon 
His nameless monumental stone, 
And many a spring recalled to bloom 
Fresh moss and violets round his tomb, 



Beneath the abbey's central town-. 
Who gave the swains thai festive hour. 

Forth from their home, which bine and brake 
Had perfumed for the hamlet wake, 
To lead and grace the moonlight game 
Fond youth and conscious maiden came — 
The aged to admire apart 
The triumph- of their country's art, 
Such as their sires were wont to prize, 
And future sons will solemnize. 

These in a swift and simple round 
Pursued the tabor's merry sound. 
Those placed the loftiest vats, turned o'er, 
And lightened of their generous store ; 
There, upon transverse perches closed, 
The level planks a stage composed. 
The bonnets there aloof were hurled, 
A challenge to the rustic world. 



The gage each stout appellant gave, 

Accepted by a foe as brave : 

There too a bonnet hung on high, 

The aim for village rivalry. 

The umpires there, of skill and force 

Once matchless in the rural course, 

More temperate then, and timely wise, 

Stood to award another's prize. 

By them the handkerchief was wound 

The champion's nether thigh around — 

By them the ground ash sapling peeled, 

And fitted with an osier shield 

To guard his right — his weaker hand 

Was fettered by the silken band. 

'Twas theirs the onset to decide, 

And watch th'essay on either side, 

The arm fix'd motionless and high 

Before the front — the level eye — 

The half open lip — the wrist's swift play, 

And each descending weapon's sway, 



6 
Impelled now here, txm there withstood, 

Till one or other blow drew blood. 

These arc the trials— this the fame 
Indigenous with England's name, 
Which nurse the germ of early Avorth, 
And draw the latent virtue forth ! 
Free born, and generously bred., 
Tis in a higher Nature's stead, 
Commanding hearts of foreign mould, 
More feebly sprung, or formed less bold : 
Her triumphs hence, and mercies rise- 
Proceed, and lift her to the skies. 
Therustic, conquering or subdued, 
By valour, skill, and fortitude, 

Aspires beyond his native strain, 

Not patient, wise, nor brave, in vain. 

From such began the mighty line 

By Richard led to Palestine, 

Through seas which murmured hoarse reply 

To the crusader's victory. 



Thy rescue, and thy glory, those, 

Henry ! at Agincourt arose, 

And rushed, where Ternois' waters streamed, 

A race devoted and redeemed. 

As thus the hamlet whiled away 
The vigil of their holiday, 
Some unaccustomed guests were by, 
Gazing in glad tranquillity, 
And half withdrawn from things divine, 
The ministers of Braden's shrine — 
Their service o'er — their simple fare 
Blest, and acknowledged by a prayer, 
They had assembled round a torch, 
Which burned within the abbey porch, 
A holy, still, and solemn light, 
Parting the shadows of the night — 
So Faith o'er mental gloom more dense 
Sheds its effusive influence, 
And where the mists of error lie 
Descends, a day spring from on high — 



And ever and anon they cast 
Upon thegroupe, in careless haste, 
Flitting along the moonlight sward, 
A meek and bountiful regard. 

Retired from longer orisons, 
Within the circle of his sons, 
Their venerable abbot came — 
Adhclm. his loved and sainted name. 
A charm impressively serene 
Attempered his exalted mien, 
For, underlining yet, he bore 
The burthen of the years of yore. 
Though with aspiring youth were flown 
The graceful vigour, once his own — 
The gallant port, and simple air, 
Which ministered to soul as fair — 
Affections to a few resigned, 
And openness with all mankind — 
The fancy favoring, bright, and clear, 
A cloudless summer hemisphere, 



i 
9 

And warmth, imparting to his tongue 

An eloquence refined, though strong. 

But time, which silently had worn 

His years to few, and those forlorn, 

Had left him leizure to reflect 

Securely on the retrospect, 

More bright, perhaps, when less sincere, 

Yet still, though disenchanted, dear. 

Of hopes which dazzle and then die 

Was Adhelm's youthful fantasy, 

The wisdom of his life's decline 

Exalted, equable, benign. 

Old age, too passionless to buoy 

His incomplete ideal joy, 

Had soothed unwelcome thoughts to rest, 

But kalendared his happiest, 

With such subdued and perfect love 

As follows sainted friends above. 

Changed as he was, he once had been 

The hero of his native green, 



• 
10 



And some remembered yel to praise 

The darling of more distant day*. 

What time he urged khe flying deer 
Foremost of all in swift career 
From Hindim, then a .sylvan name, 
Or Braden, bosoming the game, 
And won its branching spoils to deck 
The canopy of Severnec. 

In one such hour as Adhelm chose 
For feats of enterprize like those, 
He had gone forth before the day, 
By chance or fancy led away, 
Uncertain whether to pursue 
Familiar paths, or seek some new. 
The solitary field was won 
While he beheld the rising sun 
Inhale the mist which lightly rolled 
O'er his bright orb of beamless gold, 
And left the bright celestial bow 
Reflected in the expanse below, 



11 

And to the deepening blue above 
Bore all the freshness of the grove. 

The stag, amidst the wide obscure 
Aroused, had caught a breeze less pure, 
And doubled eastward up the gale ; 
Far distant in the foggy veil 
He seemed to the deluded eye, 
And larger than reality : 
But, as he bounded down the glade 
The hapless fool his hue betrayed ; 
Just when the sunbeam broke away, 
And his dun frontlet met its ray. 
The hunter chose with fatal art 
And winged with aim as true his dart ; 
The stag received it in its force — 
Once bounded shorthand pressed thegorse, 
Empurpling, as he bled to death, 
The browzes of his parent heath. 



12 

An ample spoil was early gained ; 

And what for him who won remained ? 
He plucked his arrow from the wound, 
And for a moment gazed around ; 
While one idea, in his mind 
Not new, perhaps, though undefined, 
And which had, but for this success, 
Been longer hushed in wariness, 
Suffused his cheek with warmer hue 
Than toil or early breezes drew ; 
Then, as the adventure o'er supplied 
Fair augury for one beside, 
He merrily and swiftly sped 
To gain the bower of Ethelfled. 

With twilight blush, serenely pale, 
Reviving all the gentle vale, 
Which woods of less luxuriant growth 
And livelier walks of pasture clothe, 
Though spots of corn-land intervene, 
Gilding at intervals the green; 



13 

With the first ray, obliquely bright 

Along the near inclining height — 

The smooth horizon of the down, 

With white flocks here and there bestrown, 

The love of every living thing 

Among those sweet wilds wandering — 

The gentle Ethelfled arose, 

Regardless of her light repose, 

And at her chamber window said 

The matins of a simple maid. 

Pleasing and few resolves prevent — 
Short vows prepare the innocent 
For each new task of joy and love, 
To which Avith every morn they move. 
As well the gentle maiden knew, 
It seemed, by the sweet looks she threw 
Where all the fertile landscape lay 
Rejoicing in the light of day, 
While from her lattice bent, to breathe 
The air blown fresh from flowers beneath. 



14 

Her check, which faintest breezes fanned, 

Was resting on her folded hand, 

And of the tress she had entwined 

Two ringlets only, unconfincd, 

Which o'er her rounded arm were thrown, 

Relieved its beauty by their own. 

A lively and yet softened eye 
Revealed her heart unfeignedly, 
With modest cheerfulness elate — 
In artless mirth affectionate. 
To her the morn, like yesterday, 
Was passing bright and dear away, 
In cares and offices beloved, 
And leizure happily improved. 
What fortunes were reserved to bless 
One so secure in gentleness — 
How many a cloudless day designed 
For one so joyful, good and kind ! 
He, who had seen the lovely maid 
Look from the bower, that morn, had said. 



15 

And scarcely had she gazed around, 
Ere hasty footsteps pressed the ground — 
Her tinkling sheep, in mazy thread, 
Following their startled leader, fled, 
And, springing from the underwood, 
Adhelm beneath her chamber stood, 
Fresh from his forest exercise, 
And proud of his superior prize, 
His shaft resigned, his bow unstrung, 
Looked up, and laughed, then blithely sung. 
His lay was such as youth who woos 
A bride from Severnec might choose : 
Not that of wight, unblest with sleep, 
Who, fain to rise at morning peep, 
His heart by suffering subdued, 
Or weaiy with solicitude, 
If not to love — to pity bade 
Some vain and half believing maid ; 
But frolic, fond, and true, and free, 
As earliest vows are wont to be— 



It) 

The strain, like the affection, warm 

With simple, yet with latent, charm. 

Ere Ethclfled her place forsook, 

He read acceptance in her look; 

" You will your gentleness impart 

" To this undeviating heart, 

" And, come what may," he fondly cried, 

" Adhelm will smile upon his bride." 

He had begun, while yet the maid, 
Behind her lattice half betrayed, 
Her finger on her lip impressed, 
Was fain to smile, and shun the rest. 
But Adhelm, his gay carol o'er, 
Had softly gained the opening door, 
And, unforbidden by her eye 
Which met his own in kind reply, 
And scarcely hesitating air, 
Received her from the winding stair, 
Then by her side repassed each trace 
Which he had followed from the chase, 



17 

Until among the dewy swath 
His stag compressed their sloping path. 
Regarding where its cheek was wet 
With big drops which suffused it yet, 
And blended with the trickling blood, 
A moment earnestly she stood, 
Then, as she left the stricken deer, 
Shed and concealed a silent tear, 
And on her lover's arm reclined, 
With feeling firm, with coyness kind. 

He passed like the delicious gale, 
Balm-breathing over many a vale, 
Which wafts in its unclouded way 
No showers but what refresh the day ; 
As yet too gentle to provoke 
Loud echoes from the rocking oak, 
And all the wildness of the brake 
In frequent undulations wake, 
And drift to the deserted plain 
Rare drops of dark oppressive rain ; 



18 

Deep blue afar ! and gloom afield ! 
While the sun sickens unrcvcaled, 
And one faint ray from Heaven is thrown 
Upon some yellow hill alone. 

So (some one more severely taught, 
Or less enamoured might have thought), 
So, may no future hour prepare 
For Adhelm more than present care, 
Short, light, accomplishing his youth, 
Which vigour, taste, and fancy smoothe. 
Nor e'er his voice, melodious now, 
Be sorrow-speaking, painful, low, 
And fault er at some dearer tone 
Of sympathy which wounds his own : 
Nor all his honorable years, 
Proudly begun, decline in tears ; 
Hard tears ! which from his manly eye 
Burst but for very agony : 
Past joys foregone — expected none — 
His light of life a sickening sun — 



19 

His consolation dimly bright, 
Awful, and far, though infinite. 

But little recked the pair who sought 
So tenderly their loved resort, 
In Severnec's sequestered bower, 
Of bliss beyond the present hour — 
The cloudless skies — the conscious groves- 
The moment which assured their loves : 
Except, perhaps, t'were Christmas-tide-^- 
The morn which might await a bride, 
When to fair Braden would be led, 
By Adhelm, happy Ethelfled, 
And housewifes might her hall adorn 
With misletoe, and berried thorn, 
And garnish for her bridal cheer 
The treasures of the frugal year-^- 
Blithe youths, and maidens blushing by, 
Mix blessings with their gaiety, 
And all her native hamlet be 
Dissolved in rustic jubilee. 



20 



II. 

Alas ! that, ere the foliage fell, 
And reddened in the tainted dell, 
A tempest, immaturely rude, 
Had swept its lovely solitude, 
And half a mighty forest's wreck 
Dishonoured graceful Severnec. 
And, when the north wind died away 
In dark December's sullen day, 
Thick snow and vapour more severe 
Obscured the heavy atmosphere, 
Then fell, unmingled with the rain, 
And froze, an adamantine chain. 
How was the joyful country changed I 
The landmarks hidden, or estranged, 



21 

Led not the pilgrim on his road 

To Ethelfled's forlorn abode ; 

Or, if he gained some neighbouring bound, 

Uncheered by a domestic sound, 

Amid the solitary vale 

He stopped, and only heard the hail 

Against some rattling window pour, 

Which shook unclosed the livelong hour, 

Then, shuddering at the loneliness 

Of hearths which he Was wont to bless, 

Increased to speed his doubtful pace, 

And sought a farther resting place. 

They said, that when, at length subdued 
By latest spring's vicissitude, 
The level mass began to shrink 
From lofty Hacben's southern brink, 
Eager for toil too long forgot 
The peasant left his cheerless cot, 
And, aided by a little rill, 
Trickling within its channel stilj, 



22 

Cut through the glaciated --teep 
A rugged arch, three fathom deep, 
And won from overhanging snows 
His way to labour and repose. 
The livelier emerald again 
Had re-apparelled all the plain, 
While towered, fantastic and sublime, 
That relic of the ungenial time. 
And yet the cethereal mildness threw 
A chrystallinc and tender hue 
On every gem and diamond spray, 
Descending to dissolve away. 
Such, amid olive groves and shrines, 
August Antiparos confines 
Within the bosom of her plain — 
Far, far below the unfathomed main 
Which waves upon her classic sands, 
Where, traced by no ignoble hands, 
The living characters record 
That man has wondered and adored. 



But what availed each opening sweet 
Of nature round the loved retreat ; 
Discernible between the copse, 
And overbranching fruit tree tops ; 
Here by the roofs' oblique ascent. 
There by its central battlement, 
Or the small porch above the gate, 
Charged with some old device and date, 
Or niches in the garden wall, 
Disclosed at many an interval ? 
The seedlings of a former spring, 
Luxuriantly flowering, 
Had climbed, as if in gay caprice, 
Each window sill and interstice ; 
And all the bloom of the parterre, 
Redundant from omitted care — 
The order of the flower plot 
In its replenishment forgot, 
Betrayed a hand unused to cull 
Sweets so profusely bountiful, 



24 

For ah! the pair who bade arise, 
Were driven from their paradise. 
Scene of the maiden's slow confession, 
Not of the favored youth's possession, 
Prepared with hopeful lover's pride, 
But never blest by happy bride, 
While yet it echoed with the blast, 
Silent* alone, had Adhelm passed, 
And, when the wintry months were o'er 
Her place knew Ethelfled no more. 
Usurping there another sate, 
And barred its hospitable gate ; 
Minion of one, unknown to all, 
Who gained, but never graced the hall. 
The roof which, when by her possessed, 
Had been beheld afar, and blessed, 
Whence never wanderer withdrew 
With expectation found untrue, 
Nor friend, who had not to retain 
The thought of somewhat wished again, 



25 

No longer for a guest arose, 

Nor offered to the poor repose : 

The steward of his master's store 

To give or seek alike forbore, 

But strangely turned, almost with dread, 

From eyes desiring Ethelfled, 

And passed the friends of Adhelm by 

With scant and silent courtesy. 

The hinds saw many an April wane 

To winter, and succeed again, 

'Till few could in remembrance bear 

What Ethelfled and Adhelm were, 

Or by the wasting embers tell 

Their severed loves and sad farewelh 

Yet fewer the mysterious fate 

They bore, divided, desolate ; 

Or what the power which could withhold 

Their native field and little fold. 

Yet would their pleasant memory steal 

Upon the matron at her wheel, 



26 

(Their gift in careless happy years) 
And, with the balm of pious tears, 
Be offered her continual prayer 
That Heaven would guard the virtuous pair- 
That she might see them, ere she died, 
A lover wed, and happy bride. 
For this she brought St. Genevieve 
All that her poverty could give, 
And Braden's ministers confessed 
Her faithful occupation blessed. 

One evening, by the clear moonshine, 
The villagers had left the shrine, 
And, slowly scattered homewards, trode 
The green ways to each lone abode, 
Silent and quick a stranger passed — 
His footsteps were by some retraced ; 
But, ere they gained the narrow brook 
Which Braden's turrets overlook, 
The closing of the gate Avas heard, 
And the pursued had disappeared. 



27 

Strange ! that a traveller hastening by 

Should raise the common sympathy ; 

Braden for such benighted guest 

Had hospitality and rest, 

And, at the dawning of the day, 

Her prayers might speed him on his way. 

" Nay," answered one, whom they had found 

Alone upon the rising ground, 

" Long supplications will arise 

" Ere sleep descend upon those eyes, 

" And many a penitential prayer, 

" Ere that heart rest, or learn to bear. 

" But now, by the re-kindled brand 

" Which bickered from the brother's hand, 

" I saw him, as his spirit rose, 

" Revealing, yet refraining, woes 

" With somewhat more than fortitude, 

" More soothing, solemn, and subdued : 

" His sufferings could not repress 

" A native charm of gentleness, 



" But, when pursued by the request 

"' That he would calm and clear his breast, 

<v With quick speech and imploring eye 

" He put each reverend listener by — 

" Rushed, with an impulse scarce his own, 

" As if to pierce the walls of stone — 

" Then, re-collected, turned aside, 

" And gained the court without a guide. 

" The fathers trembled while they blessed 

" Themselves and their mysterious guest, 

" And followed 'till again he turned ; — 

" The torch, which to extinction burned, 

" In their lay brother's hand, who fain 

u Had closed the creaking door again, 

" Prolonged an instant lustre pale 

" To Vashtern's tower in Tokenham vale, 

" Where, by the soft moonlight it rose 

" In all the magic of repose. 

" He saw a spot, perhaps, loved well, 

" And from his self-possession fell : 



" He spread toward the view his arms, 

" Then pressed between his meeting palms 

" His brow, which bursting drops embrined 

" Ere his fixed lips their throb resigned, 

" And one expression of dismay 

" Escaped him, as he passed away. 

" Re-closing heavily, the gate 

" Concealed that hapless stranger's fate 5 

" But " miserere" fills the gale 

" Which sighs to-night o'er Tokenham vale.' 

To Braden, swept and garnished fair, 
The pious far and near repair, 
For pleased the busy fathers call 
To unaccustomed festival. 
All are expected — every eye 
May look on the solemnity; 
Our gracious lady deigns redeem 
One spirit from its worldly dream — 
A brother is professed to-day ; 
Omit not prayer nor holy lay, 



30 

Hark ! how the long Hosannahs swell 

In prelude to the passing bell ! 

And lo ! her aged sons arise 

To lead the pompous sacrifice ! 

The purple pale recedes in twain 

Behind a lengthening votive train ; 

What breathing perfumes curl around ! 

What stoles of linen sweep the ground ! 

How many a sign from crosiered hands, 

Uplifted where their offering stands, 

Vouchsafes him, while they slowly move, 

Assurances of higher love ! 

He comes — can there be life-blood warm 

In that extenuated form ? 

His cheeks are pallid — his regard 

As if a voice called heavenward, 

And he, the listener, raised his eye 

In more than mortal extacy. 

He humbles his devoted brow — 

He mingles with the dust below-r- 



31 

The freedom of his youthful mind, 
Baffled how long, is here resigned; 
He numbers its delusions o'er, 
And is their worshipper no more. 
Here must the very name of friend 
In charitable biddings end. 
Here, even at this momentous hour 
Pre-eminent, with all its power, 
Loveliest, and latest to remain, 
Alas ! how exquisite ! how vain ! 
From Adhelm's dedicated heart 
Must man's supreme affection part. 
Oh ! above that dejected head 
Repeat not, angels ! " Ethelfled !" 
In holy silence, to his breast 
He binds the cross his lips have pressed, 
With aspiration now they swell — 
He speaks — it is immutable — 
He has nought else to be foregone, 
And earthly occupation none, 



32 

Upon Ihe victim, where be I. cuds, 

The sabje spreading pall descends : 

Perhaps there sank a stifled sigh 

With that funereal canopy, 

But, more triumphant now, the choir 

With one full burst of song retire, 

And he within the grated door 

Has passed, unheard — or sighs no more. 

Autumn had fled — the abbot gave 
His name and virtues to the grave : 
When the last offices were o'er, 
A page the regent's mandate bore — 
" Let our beloved Adhelm lead 
" His brothers, in Anselmo's stead." 
He led them, like a faithful guide, 
Apart from lofty zeal and pride ; 
By his admonishment they knew 
Tin wisdom of the chosen few; 
Monastic- leisure was refined 
By him — the meekest of mankind. 



33 

The peasant, comforted, and fed,' 
Poured daily blessings on his head ; 
And yet with every worldly one 
He held a frank decided tone, 
Which let not meaner natures stray, 
And kept the doubtful in the way. 
But he, to a delighted race 
The minister of mental grace, 
And wanting least of all the trust 
Which conscience whispers to the just, 
Felt somewhat yet ungratified, 
For which incautiously he sighed, 
And would by secret looks confess 
His heart unformed for happiness. 
The season of tranquillity, 
When disemburthened souls are free, 
And wander from their waking sense 
In visionary confidence — 
The time which to the weary brought 
Relief from care — repose from thought, 



34 

In self communion calm and wise 

He passed, but never closed his eyes, 

And long before the rising sun 

Had bade the matins be begun. 

But, when he reached his hand to taste 

At noon the temperate repast, 

Slumber, like that which wraps the dead, 

Lay heavy on his careful head, 

'Till he from the restorer drew 

A power to watch and think anew. 



35 



III. 

Aslope the lengthening sunbeams shot 
O'er Father Adhelm's favorite spot, 
And light abrupt on deepest shade 
Fell, all along the colonnade — 
A cloister arched in solemn taste, 
Where he with Brother Rudic paced. 
To them the monks a peasant led ; 
Earnest, and quick, though awed, he said. 
" Father ! last night to Tokenham 
" A sad and weaiy stranger came, 
" Our homely cares cannot restrain 
" The pangs of unrelenting pain 
" Which seem about to lay him low, 
" From sickness less than mortal woe : 
" Oh ! let his broken spirit flee 
" Absolved and blessed for charity." 



36 

The rather laid hie Btole aside, 
And bade the suppliant be bis guide ; 
Less curious than compassionate, 
The monks had led him to the gate, 
At leisure, in their sympathy, 
For little question or reply. 
One only gained some words, in haste 
Repeated as the abbot passed, 
Their import was obscurely learned 
By those the listener returned ; 
He seemed a moment to recede 
From his first eagerness to speed, 
Then, waving his paternal hand, 

Gave with his farewell this command 

That none should follow, as he sped 
Whither the obedient rustic led ; 
But Rudic, whom he marked, and blessed, 
Pursued his footsteps unrepressed. 

The twilight thrice unlovely fell ! 
They prayed our lady guard him well : 



37 

For how could the reluctant choir 

f n heartless melody aspire ? 

How, inharmonious all, rejoice ? 

He was away — the master voice, 

Awaited, ere his time was sped, 

With expectation worn to dread. 

But, while the second hour-glass ran, 

He came again, an altered man — 

Calm without hope — in anguish mute — 

His spirit still and destitute, 

And sought the shrine, and kissed the ground 

The monks with wonder thronged around : 

It seemed since he had parted last 

His middle age was overpast — 

His manhood from meridian sway 

Fall'n, undeclining, to decay. 

Youthful so late his darkened brow, 

That day was white with age's snow — 

His hollow cheek could hardly bear 

The hectic warmth which kindled there— 



38 

His broken spirit scarce sustain 

The body it possessed with pain. 
lie was beyond reflection wrought — 

Bewildered by a weight of thought, 

W hicb misery, from mere excess, 

Had rendered almost reasonless. 

Oh ! any impulse — even the sting 

Of the acntest suffering 

Had been less wretched than that sense 

Of paralyzed intelligence — 

The wish without the power to melt 

Into a thousand griefs— all felt. 

Long lapsed, at last his spirit came ; 
A shudder, which convulsed his frame, 
A tear flood, and a fearful cry 
Relieved that struggling agony ; 
Another effort— and the burst 
Of bitterness had spent its worst j 
Another, fainter, half suppressed 
In sobs, sank, or was sighed to rest, 



39 

And stedfastly, yet sadly mild, 
He with a faint assurance smiled. 
Then, prostrate on the holiest spot, 
He moved his lips, yet uttered not, 
While offering to no mortal care 
The burthen of his soul in prayer ; 
But inly exercised his mind 
To be submissive and resigned ; 
Until the feeling he had won 
Aspired to a triumphant tone, 
And, with a more exalted glow 
Than when he ratified his vow, 
Had changed his face from that despair 
To somewhat a celestial air, 
And to his loosened tongue restored 
Words such as angels might record. 
To Heaven the supplication rose, 
Himself, at its prevailing close, 
Extended to their utmost scope 
His arm and eye, in heavenly hope, 



40 

And sprang transported from the ground, 
His lips yet quivering with the sound, 
As if beyond the starry sphere 
Pursuing to present it there. 

Then looks of wonder and surmise 
Were glancing from the brothers' eyes, 
And many a bead uncounted passed 
'Twixt terror and religious haste : 
But, ere a murmur was expressed, 
Rudic had awed each troubled breast. 
He gave, arising on his knee, 
One sign, and " benedicite." 
The monks around replied " Amen," 
And trembling turned to prayer again. 
For then, sedately sorrowful, 
The father re-assumed his rule, 
While brows were crossed, and chaplets fell, 
And Braden had begun a knell, 
In solemn iterations told 
To the sad vale, and silent fold ; 



41 

Silent, as though its voice were fled 
In sorrow for a shepherd dead — 
Sad, as if nature bade her choir, 
In sympathy with one, expire. 
The melancholy echo moaned 
Amid such stillness deeper toned, 
Once and again — the pause between 
Was heavier than its swell had been : 
The ploughman with his patient yoke 
Stopped at the twice repeated stroke, 
And pious maids arose to pray 
For a soft spirit called away. 

The shadow of a cross of stone 
Yet in fair eventide is thrown 
Upon the turf, now rarely trod, 
A nameless, not unhonored sod. 
Whither at morn some shepherds bare 
The bier of the lamented fair. 
The gathering peasantry, who bowed 
In silent sadness o'er her shroud — 



42 

The maids, who hang in soft distress 

Around that withered loveliness, 

Had known her by no other name 

Than such as the departed claim; 

But yet there wanted not a few 

Who rendered there affection's due 

With wondrous sensibility — 

The tenderness of many a sigh — 

The tribute of a frequent tear, 

Which fell upon her modest bier : 

But they were strange, and, with their chief, 

Silent alike, except in grief. 

Her corse was laid — her turf bedight 
With mingled and mysterious rite ; 
The scarcely blushing roses, shed 
As for a plighted maiden dead, 
Descended in a fragrant fall 
On sable for the virgin pall — 
They offered the appointed prayer — 
But Father Adhelm was not there. 



From one attendant fall of days, 

The first who mourned — the last to gaze, 

Alone a valediction fell — 

" Loveliest, and most forlorn, farewell !" 

" All hail to the beatified !" 

The ministering priest replied. 

When Braden's sons were, every one, 
With interchange of blessings, gone, 
Her villagers, omitting nought 
Which pious custom meetly taught, 
Collected round the turf again, 
And broke a spicy cake in twain ; 
Not tokening now festivity, 
But laid in simple sadness by, 
Or doled, a charitable store 
In generous hands which could no more. 
Then went, each to his dwelling place, 
A sadder and a wiser race. 



44 

But oh ! on lonely thoughts intent, 
His far severest punishment, 
How heavily had Adhclm met 
That hour, to them, of calm regret ! 
Theirs a kind duty — to supply 
Fond offices of sympathy, 
Hopeful for one, while all beside 
Were in fulfilment gratified : 
His — to wear out an interval 
Heart-harrowing, yet vacant all, 
Without the subterfuge from woes 
Which even a wretched office shews. 
In his extremity of grief, 
Beyond resource, without relief, 
Again an unresisting prey 
To feelings conquered yesterday, 
He lay, and wept beneath his cowl, 
In very bitterness of soul. 
Until, from innate rectitude, 
'Shamed of a spirit unsubdued, 



45 

From holy resolution, more 

Resigned to suffer and adore, 

He worshipped, and resumed, perforce, 

His customary intercourse 

With those he was ordained to seek — 

The sorrowing, the poor, and meek : 

And, though the power himself desired 

Was not at once to be acquired, 

Nor could, without relapses, soothe 

Some recollections of his youth, 

Yet he beheld his suns revolve 

With ever a confirmed resolve, 

And daily for himself prepared 

Mental improvement and reward. 

'Till, long instructed to forget 

The pangs of that supreme regret, 

He lived, regarding her who died 

As called — accepted — glorified, 

And framed his thoughts to nothing less 

Than her eternal blessedness— 



46 

Her death — assumption to a crowd — 

The sole imhappiness his own, 
For oh ' his solitary lot 

Was in their parting- hour forgot. 
Little remained but to elude, 
Or charm the fond solicitude, 
Which, mindful of the form of her 
Who faded in the sepulchre, 
Had fancifully sought to dress 
Her poor remains with gracefulness, 
And mingled with no other dead 
The dust from which her spirit fled. 

Blooming upon its lonely stem 
The flower — a fairy diadem — 
Dew drops and rays serene receives ; 
Then falls upon a lap of leaves, 
By some autumnal wind despoiled, 
And left to wither in the wild, 
A barren seed, or sproutless germ, 
Unlovely, for the winter term. 



47 

The nymph, who wont the stalk to rear, 
Repasses, and no bloom is there ; 
She, not unmindful, turns away 
From her own emblem of decay, 
O'erblown, deserted, drooping, dead — 
The bright and verdant lustre shed — 
The fondly cherished perfume lost, 
Even in the gale it gladdened most. 

Again Favonian mildness, borne 
Upon the breezes of the morn, 
Distils the frost and vapour drop, 
And wakes the world to genial hope : 
The voice of nature is abroad — 
Her beauty from decay restored ; 
From one exhausted stock arise 
Gems numberless of thousand dyes, 
Which heavenward open, and expand 
The fragrance of the flowery land. 



48 

The husbandman, his ripe reward 
Collecting from the yelloW sward, 
En yet he heap the spiky store 
Profuse upon his threshing floor, 
With care apart dividing, spreads 
The lighter and the weightier heads ; 
Those temperately gathered up 
His feast to fill — ferment his cup ; 
These to benignant earth, the leaven 
And garner of the gifts of Heaven, 
Committed hopefully, to hold 
For retribution manifold. 
Succeeding spring will re-assure 
A pledge for autumn to mature, 
And over all the golden plain 
Increase his thinly scattered grain. 

And shall we not to kindred dust 
Our loveliest and most graceful trust ? 
The lot is universal — one 
For every tribe beneath the sun : 



49 

For man, of the terrestrial frame 

Vicegerent absolute, the same. 

Not renovate, except he fade, 

Like seeding flower, or fruitful blade, 

The vegetable law his own, 

He in the bed of earth is sown, 

Corruptible, to mellow there 

His winter time, and re-appear, 

Changed from the form with which he fell 

To perfect incorruptible. 

There his unconscious limbs recline 

Within their consecrated shrine — 

Caressingly the south wind blows 

O'er his pavilion of repose — - 

The dew falls in as soft a shower 

As watered Eden's sinless bower, 

And planets of benignant sphere 

Have happy influences there. 

Such visit still the hallowed green, 
Where once that nameless grave was seen- 



50 

The spot unhappy Adhelm's pride 

Rather than all the world beside. 

The turf, by his affection laid, 

Was lavish in that holy shade, 

And with the most luxuriant bloom 

Had tapestried the stranger's tomb. 

The vernal and autumnal hours 

Were redolent alike with flowers, 

Here found to blow and disappear 

The first and latest of the year. 

But he had chosen that sacred earth 

For other than the floweret's birth ; 

Here there was intercourse between 

His chastened heart and Heaven — this scene, 

Accordant with his simple mind — 

A solemn temple unconfined — 

Its height the firmament — the space 

Of consecrated earth its base, 

Received him ever, while he paid 

His praise at even, at morning prayed. 



51 

Here, with a pious shepherd's care, 
He numbered his full flock for prayer j 
Here, in his patriarchal right, 
Their consolation, strength, and light, 
Between them and the tomb he stoodj, 
And shewed the worth of being good. 
Here, upon holy truths intent, 
And powerful in their argument, 
He led by reason where its clue 
Could aid the unassisted view, 
And left the humbler power to rest 
On points by nature manifest : 
Patient, until he taught ascend 
That Pisgah where all proof must end r 
Then turned triumphant to expand 
The vision of the promised land : 
From things perceived, to things above 
Perception sure by faith and love. 

Here most, if ever weakness stole 
Upon the quiet of his soul, 



52 

Or images of joys divided 

Within the mental mirror glided, 

He came j the spot — the calm combined 

With its idea in his mind, 

Could by unerring influence all 

His lost tranquillity recal. 



53 



IV. 

So it befel, that, on the eve 
Sacred to blest St. Genevieve, 
When all the sports I sang erewhile 
Were viewed with many a saintly smile, 
And Adhelm in the circle stood, 
Benignest of his brotherhood, 
He cast a placid look among 
The busy, gaily scattered throng, 
Who, when their rustic field was o'er, 
Had wandered to the abbey door. 
The village favorite, Valance, 
With modest Amice led the dance ; 
Anxious, while pleased, the youth — the maid, 
Though unreluctant, yet afraid ; 



54 

And, as he wound with her the maze, 

They thus expressed by mutual gaze — 

'• Would, dearest love! to Heaven I might 

" Attend thee in a holier rite !" 

And, " Ever alas ! what hearts have those 

" Who cause and scorn true lovers' woes ?" 

Too well were to the father known 

Those looks exchanged which met his own, 

And raised to recollection cares 

As hapless and as fond as theirs. 

Even then his aged aspect grew 

More faint — his cheek of colder hue, 

While yet within himself secure, 

And certain where to find his cure, 

" My youth !" he said, and from the crowd 

His sacristan, Edwellyn, bowed— 

Arose, and folded to his breast 

The hand which with affection pressed,. 

Then faintly motioned him away ; 

The stripling hastened to obey. 



55 



" Save ye, my sons !" their sire pursued, 

" Yourselves, by no regrets subdued, 

" May safely — profitably — ken 

" The careless hours of simple men, 

" Rejoicing and religious too ; 

" But what hath age with sport to do ? 

" Be yours the eve of holiday— 

" I'll to my cross of stone, and pray." 

Then on his youthful guide reclined, 

And slowly left the sports behind. 

Their path had traced the smooth hill top, 
And channelled its unequal slope, 
Escaping in the sweetest shade 
Which summer twilight ever made, 
To where a spring arose, and flowed 
Across the turf on which they trode. 
The freshness of the filmy air 
Revealed it, and invited there ; 
Although the saturated green 
Upon its brink was bright unseen, 



56 

And foliage overhung it bigb 

In colourless variety, 

As on its cool and secret way 

It wandered <>n, by sedge and spray, 

So faintly, that the calm around 

Was but remembered in its sound. 

Edwellyn lightly overstepped 

The stream, where it supinest crept j 

The father, while with weaker pace 

He pressed upon the landing place, 

Impelled to sudden reverence, 

Perhaps he was unconscious whence, 

Immersed his hollow palm, and took 

The treasure of the sleepy brook, 

And signed his forehead and his breast 

With those pure drops which he had blessed ; 

Then let the shrinking water drain 

Through his expanding hand again, 

And, while it gemmed the murky tide, 

With pious recollection cried. 



57 

" And I shall conquer in this sign— 
" Imperial Lord ! thy trust is mine." 

Then, as he gained the doubling hill, 
Wrapt in th' imagination still, 
" Though I my sign of worshipping 
" Receive in water from the spring, 
" And thy bright confirmation came 
" Amid the blaze of heavenly flame 
" Illuminating wide and far 
" The countless pomp of Roman war ; 
" What time with painful laboring pace, 
" Thy myriads to their resting place-— 
" One more turf couch, perhaps their last- 
" In tired array tumultuous passed, 
" And scarcely drew with slackened rein, 
" Their chivalry, impelled in vain. 
^*' Yet freshly from the west arose 
" A breeze to lull them to repose, 
u By sounds and streamers o'er the host 
" In heavy undulation tossed, 



58 

" And where the parting sun was set 
" On brazen eoil and annulet, 
et The musie of their sad farewell, 
" As from the fabled image, fell. 

" Before a burst of brighter day 
" They sink — they fail — they fade away. 
t( Is there a faulchion flashing keen — 
" A spear among ten thousand seen — 
" A knee, in all the mighty crowd 
u Of men and animals, unbowed ? 

" Lightening upon the peopled plain, 
u Th' ethereal splendour streams in twain 
" The sunbeams which divide the air 
" Are shadows to its brightness, where, 
" Too glorious to be gazed upon, 
" It bears, as from the eternal throne, 
" The title and triumphant sign 
" Of second covenant divine. 



59 

" Hearts of the brave ! from rank to rank, 

" Before the high portent, ye shrank, 

" Despairing to appease or fly 

" Some fiercely present deity ; 

" Wliether stern Jove, or Mars your sire, 

" Or other of the idol choir, 

" Adored on Capitolian height 

" With prodigality of rite, 

" Gods of voluptuousness and fear ! 

" But when again your heads ye rear, 

" 'Tis to behold, and bow them down 

s( To one, of all your sects unknown — 

" One unimagined 'till this hour — 

ec Most Merciful, Almighty Power. 

" By his benign protection blest, 

" Soldiers ! sink sweetly to your rest ; 

tf Ye shall awake, with Constantine 

K Regenerate, conquering in his sign." 

The father told, or pondered o'er 
Such legends of monastic lore, 



60 

For off the musings ofhis mind 
Were, without utterance, resigned, 
While with his silent guide he wound 
Within the consecrated ground. 
Between them and the beaten way 
Low monumental hillocks lay ; 
Many which might from either claim 
Remembrance, and an honoured name, 
Where slumbered Braden's sometime race, 
Known each in his last resting place. 
None better, nor beloved so well 
As he, around whose narrow cell, 
Protected by a maple cross, 
Clung lavishly the constant moss : 
There, gathered to his fellow clay, 
What once was zealous Rudic lay. 
Fondly the father, while they passed, 
A look of salutation cast, 
And, turning to his youthful guide, 
" Gentle, my sacristan !" he cried, 



61 

" Were he, o'er whose remains we bend — 

" My wisest and most fervent friend, 

" Now haply wandering by my side, 

" (As on the evening ere he died), 

" Myself had, not admired, expressed 

" The fancies of a weary breast ; 

" Perhaps deemed passionless of all 

" In cloister and confessional : 

" Yet, if the painful chord be started 

" Which vibrates with one stricken hearted, 

" Away from sad realities, 

" To visionary themes he flies, 

" Seeking in any thoughts soe'er 

" A refuge from one heavier — 

" The secret sickness of his mind, 

a Soothed haply, but still left behind. 

" The sons of Braden have not seen 
" Young Adhelm as he once has been, 
" Few even remember or relate 
" My entrance and noviciate j 



02 

" They augtir from my solemn brow 

" That 1 am sad and holy now, 

" Or, doubtulg what 1 was, revere 

" The office which invests me here. 

" But, though I let the busy ciy 

" Of rumour pass as easily 

" As if my lifeless ear were cold, 

" And it were to my ashes told, 

" The honor of our house may claim 

" From its chief son a spotless name. 

" To thee, whose gratitude repays 

" My fond instruction, and my praise, 

" I trust the tale by love forbidden — 

" The sorrows in seclusion hidden ; 

" Guard them until my days are passed, 

" And then explain them, as thou mayst ; 

f< Not for the many to review, 

(< But to convince the cherished few 

" That I have sought a reverend grave, 

" Requiting the esteem they gave." 



63 

He paused, and followed up the height, 
A faultering pace, by doubtful light-; 
But, ere he breathed again, the gloom 
And the ascent were overcome. 
A little while he stood to gaze 
Upon the slant and clear moon-rays, 
Which issued from their cloudy vest, 
Until the planet, all confessed, 
Appeared to lift and rarify 
The dark grey concave of the sky, 
And shed upon the solemn scene 
A light so lustrous and serene, 
It seemed as if her crescent shone 
In radiance for that spot alone. 
For every floweret which withdrew 
Its beauty from the drops of dew — 
The spangling of the moisture, shed 
Upon its variegated bed, 
And hoar moss, which had overgrown 
The pillar of the cross of stone, 



G4 

Appeared mure faint and lovelier 
Than when the day delighted there: 
While Lucid all the holy sign 
Expanded o'er that verdant shrine, 
A spotless form, as if to shew 
The heavenly way to those below. 

The Father to the east inclined, 
And took the path his guide resigned, 
With calm and grateful aspect led 
Beside the turf of Ethelfled. 
There, when he gained his wonted seat, 
Edwellyn hung upon his feet, 
And listened to the themes he chose ; 
Wrought to be eloquent in woes, 
While wandering in his plaintive tale 
Far from the grief he would bewail ; 
Yet skilled to suffer or restrain 
The indulgence of that pensive pain, 
'Till he had told it all, and smiled, 
Sad, but to sorrow reconciled. 



V. 

" Must Nature smile for me in vain — 
" The vale retire — expand the plain — 
" The water wind and murmur round 
" My hill, with yon fair forest crowned ? 
" And is my soul too sick to bear 
" The influence of a scene so fair ? 
" Yet more, shall day, in Heaven new-born, 
" The shadows chase, and bring the morn 
" With all the pomp of thousand dyes 
" In clear or lightly clouded skies ? 
" And, if the sun serenely break, 
" Will every heart but one awake ? 
" Before the tufts of trees absorb 
" Yon rising moon — almost an orb, 

E 



66 

" Between their branching stems it throws 

k - A lighl so soft — so like repose, 

" That all but this unquiet breast 

" May sink beneath it into rest. 

" There was a time — alas ! the pain 
" Of numbering perished joys, how vain ! 
" How fruitless for a mind entombed 
" To feel that love has fondly bloomed ! — 
ee A time, when not alone the day 
" With night alternating its way, 
" And all th' expanse beneath their scope, 
" Like rest serene, or bright as hope, 
" But e'en the very simplest thing 
" Of gracious Nature's offering 
" Had lifted up a secret voice 
" Which called on Adhclm to rejoice : 
" More cherished, when the beauty shone 
" No longer for himself alone. 
" Witness the flowers which mantle here, 
" The shrine of Nature's worshipper, 



67 

" That such she was — from Heaven she drew 

" Her pure delights, as they the dew, 

" And in her charms appeared a rose 

" As blooming and short-lived as those. 

" Beheld at virgin distance moving 

" By many scarce, perhaps, approving ; 

" There were who might have met her eye, 

" Admiring, yet unconscious why, 

" For ah ! she knew not to elance 

" In bright pursuit its gentle glance ; 

" But, when her favouring smile remained, 

" Maidenly, blithe, and unconstrained, 

" Beyond a sister's confidence — 

" Above the softly lavish sense 

11 Of all but the first pair who loved, 

" It soothed, delighted, and improved. 

" The feelings she forbore to speak 

" Were eloquent upon her cheek, 

" But scarcely raised her brow to less 

" Than its accustomed evenness : 



(IS 

t( And yet a thousand gaieties, 

• ; Without designing, or disguise, 

" Seemed, at some moments, to unite 

" That pensive charm with one more bright- 

" That bland with more inspiring power, 

" Each ever happiest in its hour, 

" And so she innocently won 

" Most admiration, seeking none. 

" Wherefore recall I from her grave 

" A grace, save such as angels have? 

" Her voice was for a heavenly ear, 

" Mild, but expressive, low, yet clear, 

" As preluding her doom — her hand, 

" Swayed with more powerful command, 

" Awoke to the bright themes she sung 

" A lofJer chord, how soon unstrung! 

" But, in the dawn of our delight, 
" Unguarded, hopeful, exquisite, 
" With melody more mirthful yet 
" She carolled the slow sun to set, 



69 

" And to domestic evenings gave 

" A charm which rose to gay from grave. 

" It brightened in her orphan hall 

u More lovely for one interval 

" Which her last cherished parent's doom 

" Had saddened with unwonted gloom ; 

" When, sinking in her widowhood, 

" Lamented by the kind and good, 

(e With her loved Lord Elfrida chose 

" An undivided last repose; 

" And lordly Harold, Avon's chief, 

" The feudal guardian of the fief, 

" Retained in paramount command 

" The orphan heiress and her land. 

" Preserving, as affection bade, 

" Some filial thoughts, serenely sad, 

" (Those consolations of the mind 

" Which keener sorrow leaves behind) 

" On russet Severnec she stood, 

" The pride and honor of the wood, 



70 

" And filled her solitary place 

" With duteous ease, and modest grace. 

" So, conquered by the smile I won, 

" So, pleased returning hers alone, 

" I thought that all beneath the sky 

" Conspired for our felicity, 

" And earth held none who would not bless 

" Our plighted love, or wished it less. 

" In full and bright tranquillity, 

" Fond and secure, the hours fled by, 

" And confidence a calm content 

" To moments almost bridal lent ; 

" Charmed and enchanting as they passed 

" In interchange of thought and taste — 

" A mutual course serenely run — 

" Our business and our leisure one. 



" It chanced through Severncc we str 
" 'Till we had gained its deepest shade ; 
" To counsel, sweet as uncon fined, 
" Succeeded silence not less kind, 



71 

" While both perhaps were pondering o'er 

" The hope so eloquent before. 

" Then I could easily confide 

" In all which promised me my bride ; 

" Her feudal liege had seldom spared 

" A thought for his neglected ward, 

" For, shrinking from his proud salute, 

" She paid him undistinguished suit ; 

" And if an orphan maid should claim 

" For so forlorn a fonder name, 

" It booted not to one so great 

" Who might partake her humble state. 

" While vainly musing thus we stood, 

" A pipe re-echoed from the wood — 

" The groves within each sylvan way 

" Repeated a light roundelay, 

" Which accents of a stranger's tongue 

" With intermissions gaily sung. 

" ' I love (the voice began) to try 
" ' My arrow in the trackless sky— 



" ' To swim the stream of depth tmfound — 

" * To Listen to unwound sound 

" ' I love to wander as I will 

" ' From scenes new gained to newer still, 

" ' And these are won to be resigned 

" ' For somewhat future undefined.' 

" The minstrel paused, then told again 

" His restless thought, without the strain. 

" ' My wild career had well been checked 
" ' By sophists of another sect ; 
" c And some in Harold's bowers there were— 
" e Beauteous enough, but too severe. 
" ' I Avould a nymph of so much art 
" e As just to fix this frolic heart, 
" ' Then yield her own at my request' — 
" He faultercd, and forbore the rest; 
" And, ere he found his song to aid 
" 'J'he meaning he had left unsaid, 
" How many youthful thoughts had passed 
" Between these numbers and the last ! 



73 

u ' A heedless spirit in its soar 
' e Can fee] unhappily no more 
' ' Than that there may be love like this, 
f * And those who merit have the bliss ; 
: c But, let the witchery proceed — 
1 i Her, once hoped his, be his indeed, 
' ' And where's the spell which will divide 
' ( The plighted lover and his bride.' 
e I saw reluctant blushes streak 
' My tender maiden's conscious cheek, 
' And felt her timidly entwine 
1 Her trembling yielded hand in mine, 
While whispering, k what will e'er divide 
< The plighted lover and his bride.' 

" We heard the tuneful wanderer's measure 
" With fond and undissembled pleasure ; 
" His thoughts seemed like our own believing — 
" His wishes bright as we were weaving : 
" Oh ! were there recollection found . 
" Accordant with that hopeful sound ! 



74 

" Our former way was soon retraced — 

" .My love before her mansion placed, 

" And we had interchanged adieu, 
t 
1 When the musician came in view. 

" He met us with a frank address, 

" Inviting ease by gracefulness, 

" Such as the court and camp confer 

" Upon a youthful follower — 

" Accused his own desire to rove, 

" Which had impelled him to the grove, 

" And prayed refreshment and a guide — 

" The first her pleasing care supplied ; 

" I blithely Led him to regain 

" The nearest of Lord Harold's train, 

<e Who, upon Liddel's lofty brink, 

" Let slip their greyhounds from the link, 

" And made our boundaries the aim 

" Of all the agitated game, 

" Which to their sheltering covert led, 

" Or doubled on its side, and bled. 



75 

" The wanderer, when he surveyed 

" A track determining the shade, 

" And heard along its level run 

" A cry, which told the chace begun, 

" Repaid what he had deigned to ask 

" With courtesy above the task, 

" Then sprang across the emerging green, 

<e And in a moment was unseen. 

" J scarcely held, as I withdrew, 

" A thought on our past interview ; 

" And, if my gentle love had dwelt 

" On such as maidenly she felt, 

" While at the stranger's near survey 

" She blushed, remembering his lay, 

" Or how, when she had poured the draught, 

" He kissed the cup before he quaffed ; 

" All these were quickly overcome, 

" When I revisited her home. 

" Alas ! our exquisite distress 

" Had no degrees in bitterness, 



" And we securely fond remained, 
" 'Till, by some secret influence gained, 
" Her feudal guardian gave his voice 
" In disavowal of her choice. 

" The day designed our nuptial one 
" Upon our wretched parting shone ; 
" Forlorn in Severnec the maid 
" Watched eveiy bride- flower undecayed, 
" And I beyond the distant Seine 
" Bore hopes not yet imagined vain. 
" For York held o'er the rival strand 
" No doubtful voice, nor powerless hand ; 
" At Vashtern's he had deigned to praise 
" The promise of my happier days — 
" To his munificence was due 
" That ever knightly fame I knew — 
" I hoped from his appeal a bride 
" To suit and claim of mine denied — 
" To his humanity I owe 
" The only gifts which grace me now. 



77 

'.' Welcomed, assured, caressed, I joined, 
" And left, as soon, the chief behind. 
" How favouringly my pinnace stood 
" Home-bound across the lessening flood ! 
" How gallantly bore up beside 
" Each sea-mark, late its distant guide ! 
'.' I thought it easy to regain 
" My parent shore, and native plain — 
" To cheer my love — York's high request 
" Prefer to Harold — and be blest. 
" But, when I reached the well-known door, 
" It opened at my touch no more ; 
" No sound of hasty steps, the same 
u Which used to bear me welcome, came. 
" My plighted Ethelfred was gone — 
" Who could have gladdened it alone ; 
" And wandering where, or whence compelled, 
" None augured, and no eye beheld : 
" At evening in her porch she sate — 
" Morn rose — her bower was desolate. 



11 And I — what boots it to recall 

" Pangs, efforts, unrequited all — 

" The hopes, which failed with each essay- 

" The fears, confirmed by long delay ? 

" Three miserable years I pined 

" For one unfound, but unresigned. 

« At length, triumphant in his art, 
" Lord Harold deigned to York impart, 
" That his fair charge, by chance restored, 
" Devolved upon a youthful lord, 
u Who, while among her woods he roved, 
" Had seen the peerless maid and loved. 
" Then came who told in thankless haste 
" How pompously the pageant passed — 
" The music of the merry lay 
" By Cambrian harpers tuned that day, 
" And answered from the banks of Wye 
" By shouts of mountain revelry, 
" Until the morrow's sunshine stole 
" On quivering chord, and flowing bowl. 



79 

u But rumour of less blithe import 

" Had broken the declining sport : 

"-'Twas whispered that, ere evening fell, 

" The lord had bade his love farewell — 

" A joyless chief, for battle bound, 

" While draughts to his delight were crowned. 

" Alas ! in evil so intense, 

" I turned to somewhat like suspense : 

" They might have mingled with the throng 

" Who bore the timid bride along — 

" Have seen her lavish, as she came, 

" Her beauteous smiles upon her shame — 

l 
11 Have heard her plight a happier love, 

" For Heaven, not Adhelm, to approve ; 

" Yet, if some perfidy had failed, 

" Some pity, or remorse prevailed, 

" A bridegroom but in name alone 

" Might pause — might faulter — might atone. 

" Such, and ten thousand vainer things, 

" Hope's last revived imaginings, 



80 

" At once impelled me to pursue 

" Thesecre! by its doubtful clue. 

" Between the sunrise and decline 

" These paths and those of Wye were mine 

" None ever had with heart less light 

" Than I, ascended Wyng Cliff's height, 

" Or so unconsciously won 

" The summit of a mountain throne, 

" The watch tower of so many realms, 

" And guardian of their golden streams — 

" The nearer Wye, scarce seen to shape 

" Its wanderings in their escape 

" From rock and headland veiled in wood — 

" The confines of its infant flood, 

" Until triumphant in the tide 

" By Severn's refluence supplied. 

" And Severn, smooth in its advance 

" Amid the irregular expanse, 

" To where it wafted all the store 

" Of glebe and mead which love its shore 



81 

" From each extending boundary 
" Seaward, almost itself a sea. 

" Once I had cast delighted eyes 
" Upon those vales of paradise, 
" Reposing in th' oblique sun-ray — 
" And thought the future fair as they. 
" Then, comfortless, I gained the gate 
" Where dwelt the bride without her mate, 
" And stood aloof, and questioned all 
" Who left it at each interval. 
" Their tale was that already known, 
" And added nothing to my own, 
" Except that, since the nuptial hour, 
" She had remained within her bower. 
" I watched its lattices, untired, 
" 'Till the last light of day expired, 
u Then nearer and more near I crept, 
" And listened 'till, it seemed, all slept. 
" Thus every evening I renewed 
(i My vigil, vain, yet still pursued, 



82 

" A shepherd's hovel far away 

" Became my resting place by day. 

" At lengthj upon my twilight guard, 

" I heard the sound of bolts unsparred — 

" A wicket opened in my view, 

" On some who parleyed, and withdrew, 

" Then, slowly re-appearing, led 

" A little maid and Ethelfled ; 

" A light upon her features shone, 

" But her supporters were unknown. 

" c Lady, you have your wish — the air, 

" ' And dew which these green alleys bear- 

" ' The fainting spirit's medicine ; 

" i Oh may they be the balm of thine.' 

" The damsel said, and led away 

" By the inclosure where I lay : 

" The others hid the lamps they bore, 

" And passed more hastily before. 

" I crossed the thicket, unawares, 

" And found a path encircling theirs ; 



83 

" My steps fell noiseless on the green — 

" My form was 'mid the leaves unseen — 

" I sought whate'er the words of each 

" To listener, perchance, might teach ; 

" But nought was spoken or replied 

" Between the lady and her guide. 

" Closer and yet more close I came, 

" And whispered mine and her loved name ; 

" Alas ! they fell upon an ear 

" Chill as the breeze which bore them there. 

" Her seeming caution mocked my own, 

" And I pursued, in vehement tone, 

" (Advancing, where the wood was cleft, 

" Between her and the towers she left) 

" i Oh ! if thou ever didst design 

" i The hand thou gavest another mine, 

" c Speak once, and I will pass thee by, 

" i Without reproach — without reply : 

" £ Say how and wherefore thus thou art' — 

" She did not tremble — did not start — 



84 

•• Did not disturb that horrid calm 

" By any accent of alarm ; 

" Though mine at once recalled the rest 

" From every path to that we pressed, 

" And their awakened torches glanced, 

" These kindling those as they advanced, 

" Upon a throng of listeners, 

" Whose looks, and mine were fixed on hers : 

" But stood — angelic guards remove 

" Such misery from all who love ! 

" A beauteous image, which enshrined 

" No light of memory or mind — 

" The temple of a power destroyed, 

" Cold, unilluminated, void. 

" Her happiest hours had winged their flight 
" In equal course, serene, though bright, 
" Her spirit met in its decay 
" None more tumultuous than they, 
" And her infirmity was less 
" Anguish of thought than feebleness. 



85 

" It drew from her devoted air 

" No traces, save of earthly care, 

" And all the expression which it gave 

" Was of a world beyond the grave. 

" But oh ! that grace in no controul 

" Seemed sympathetic with her soul — 

" Not then admitted to the bliss 

" Of saints in Heaven, as now it is ; 

" But lost to genius, fancy, taste, 

" To future, hopes, and blessings past — 

" Without the power or wish to prize 

" Human regards and charities — 

" Without the consciousness of love 

" For aught below or aught above. 

" I hid my miserable head 

" In utter agony, and fled, 

" Passing, I know not how unfound, 

■' The vassals who were gathering round, 

" And some involuntary might 

" Sustained me in my wretched flight — 



86 

l - A long and solitary way. 

" Where chance and sorrow led astray, 

" The first remembrancers I knew 

" Came from the portal in our view; 

" They sheltered one, who had defied 

" All mortal intercourse beside, 

" And lured a mind which Mercy spared 

" By slow approaches heavenward. 

" I gave the world again its cares — 
" Great York a poor man's thankful prayers- 
" My hapless Ethel fled her part — 
" A blessing fervent from my heart, 
" And sought beneath my priestly vest 
" The sabbath of a life-long rest. 

" Here has my occupation been, 
" If not without regret, serene, 
" From worldly disappointments free, 
" Though saddened by their memory : 



87 

" It steals upon my vacant hour 

xt With feebler and more feeble power ; 

il Retained so long, so late removed, 

" Solicitude for her I loved — 

" My fervour for her happiness — 

" My dread of her supposed distress — 

" The last of fruitless sympathies, 

'' Concluded, when I closed her eyes/' 



88 



VI. 

" The memory of some recalls 
" The eve I left these holy walls, 
" By one who came from Tokenham led 
" To an expiring stranger's bed. 
" Our brother, in my parting ear 
" Whispering I know not what of fear, 
" And Rudic, an unbidden guard, 
" Seemed both for some mischance prepared 
" I was with holier thoughts elate, 
" And only sought to vindicate 
" The last sad right our natures crave — 
" Leave to look calmly on the grave, 
" And bathe in consecrated dew 
" A dying youth whom no one knew. 



89 

" His pity and alarm supplied 
u Increasing swiftness to our guide, 
" And we unhesitating trod 
" With him the hill and beaten road, 
" And passed beside the narrow cleft 
" By yon long scattered village left. 
" There, bowered with elm, two knolls give place 
" To copse wood bosomed at their base, 
" And, farther, hills of verdure lay, 
" Tracked lightly by the long footway 
" Which peasants follow from the heath 
" To Dantsey, and the vale beneath. 
" There the rude labour of the swains 
" Preserves a flood of wintry rains, 
" And rills from all the green slopes pour 
" Their silent increase to the store ; 
" Escaping through the hollow wheel 
" The whitened woofs of water reel, 
" And down the millpool babble on 
(( In narrow channels flaked with stone. 



90 

" Just when a higher upland brow 
"• Conceals the streamless vale below 
" Our guide advanced a space before, 
" And pointed to a lonely door. 
" Rudic sprang instantly to join 
" The youth, his speed preventing mine, 
" And came again with equal haste 
" To lead me whither he had passed. 
" I scarcely raised my eyes to dwell 
" Upon the shepherd's homely cell, 
" Though, where the stranger slumbering lay, 
" Amid its scant and rude array, 
" Some care had o'er the hovel thrown 
" A seemly order, not its own. 
" ' He is asleep, Heaven to an end 
" * Healthful and calm his rest extend !' 
" The peasant cried, and, as he spoke, 
" That which he would have cherished broke. 
" ' Argulio here ?' the stranger said, 
" And raised his unrefreshened head, 



91 

" ' Content you, sir,' the youth replied, 

« « 'Twas mid-day ere he left your side, 

" ' And scarce can have his errand done 

" e 'Till half another glass be run, 

" ' Meanwhile, the crone your drink prepares, 

" ' And here are some to aid your prayers.' 

" He passed his brow with heavy palm — 

" Looked up in half-subdued alarm, 

" And answered, l Save ye, reverend sires ! 

" i Ye offer what my state requires — 

(C ( Physician less than saintly friend 

" i To bless and bring me to my end : 

" ' So please it either to receive 

" ' My present shrift, the others leave.' 

" Yet Rudic laboured to obtain « 

" Some intermissiou of his pain, 

" And busied him about the couch ; 

" But, when the pulse escaped his touGh, 

" He faultered, and in stifled tone 

" Revealed the truth to me alone, 



92 

" ' He dies, ere morning dawn,' he said, 
" ' Perhaps less hardly for my aid.' 
" And, hastening, from his vest he drew 
<e A medicine of purple hue ; 
" Its slow distilling moisture hung 
" Succous upon the stiffened tongue ; 
" I watched him filter drop by drop, 
" Which sparkled like expiring hope, 
" And some unwonted sympathy 
" Dejected me, I knew not why. 
" The stranger's eyes more mildly fired, 
" As Rudic with the guide retired, 
" A respiration calm and free 
" Suspended his last energy, 
" While, lightlier on his couch composed — 
" His hands inflexed — his eyes half closed — 
" He spoke, as in a placid dream — 
" ' Father ! I am not what I seem, 
" ' Yet I have nothing to repress 
" ' From him whose hand is stretched to 
bless ; 



93 

" e No secret with a sainted mind, 

" e For you are good, and will be kind, 

" < And pity rather than reprove 

" ' The fault of fervent hopeless love ; 

" ' Ah me ! its visitations urge 

" * My youth on an eternal verge.' 

" * Alas ! my son, thyself resign 
" ' To goodness mightier than mine ; 
" i No more than fellow suppliant I — 
" < Perhaps, like thee, love's votary : 
" ' If thus, how sovereign a cure 
" ' Do piety and age insure ! 
" e Love, which 'tis mortal to retain, 
" ' Must be, my son, alas ! in vain.' 

" ' Your daughter, say,' the stranger cried, 
" And strove a sickly blush to hide, 
" Herself recoiling from the word, 
" And leaving my reply unheard. 
" Then, having meekly sighed to rest 
" Th' emotion with her sex confessed, 



94 

" And suffered one descending tear — 
" ' Father and friend ! absolving hear. 



" ' Orphan in early youth — denied 
' To one — my comforter, and guide — 
1 My chosen, but by Harold's word 
' Disowned as my affianced lord, 
f I wept alone, while he essayed 
' A distant mediator's aid, 
c For such was wanting to remove 
' The interdiction of our love. 
1 Haply the tale, so far, remains 
' With some among the neighbouring swains, 
* For I am like the hunted hare, 
' Doubling to die upon my lair ; 
e And would that the last air 1 breathe 
4 Were freshened with thy fragrant heath, 
f Nor other posy culled to deck 
' My bier, than thine, sweet Severnec ! 
x ' Father ! forgive my simple mind, 
' I am not vain, nor less resigned 



95 

" ( Because reluctant to forget 

" ' Past hours unsaddened by regret : 

" c And, if the love of scenes like those, 

" ' Where my first happiness arose — 

" ' Where from each parent's tongue I caught 

" t Instruction with my earliest thought — 

" £ Of those adorned at their request, 

" ' And now, with their remembrance, blessed, 

" ( Attend, perhaps, my latest sigh, 

" i Shall I be less absolved on high? 

" i My sorrow, at this awful hour, 

<c ' Subdued and chastened by its power, 

" ' Conducts me to my end of days 

" ' In humble gratitude and praise 

" i To Him, my refuge, and defence 

i ' ( In years of childish innocence — 

" ' When wondering at a world untried, 

" t In youth's incautious hour, my guide — 

" ' My consolation and my trust, 

" ' When I resigned my parents' dust. 



9(5 

" ' And all the hopes, a darling train, 

" ' Which charmed my orphan hours in vain. 

" ' Father ! my strength begins to fail, 

" c I veer no longer in my tale. 

" ' One evening found me at my gate, 
' Pondering my past and future fate — 
1 Fair promises of joy reversed, 
' And lovelorn fears, of all the worst : 
' The ploughman, from his furrow free, 
' Had parted homewards wearily — 
e I deemed me in the vale alone, 
( When suddenly a pipe was blown : 
6 I knew its note, a stranger's tongue 
' With such had preluded his song, 
' What time his weary footsteps bore 
i The wandering gallant to my door ; 
' But my sad days so nearly pressed 
' Upon the visit of my guest, 
' That it seemed secretly combined 
' With all the train of ills behind, 



97 

" c And I had since unkindly thought 

" 4 Of him, and what his music taught: 

" i Then, as I heard the pipe again, 

" c I rose and hastened toward the strain. 

(i ' Alas ! the mind is led to swerve 

K ' In sorrow from its own reserve, 

" ( I would the secret of my doom, 

" ' And sought it — of I knew not whom. 

" e I gained the thicket, and pursued 

" i A path of leaves by autumn strewed, 

i( l Until the only sound I heard 

" ( Was that which my own footsteps stirred 

f i But o'er the foliage, as I passed, 

" e Some drops of dewy light were cast, 

" { (Such as the glow-worm wont to leave 

" e Upon a bank, at summer eve) 

" e I traced them to a hollow oak, 

« < From which the broadest lustre broke — 

" c A solitary watchfire's glare 

" f Discovered one who waited there — 



98 

" ' He was the same I sought — he said, 

" " You have prevented me, bright maid ! 

" " I bear your guardian's seal, the rest 

" " Is in the scroll it signs expressed." 

" ' I drew the mandate from his hand, 

" ' And stooped before the flashing brand ; 

" s But when I met the heedless gaze 

" ' Of some who trimmed or spread the blaze, 

" ' And looked again upon the knight, 

" ' Who smiled in triumph and delight, 

" ' I struggled with a heart-wrung sigh, 

" ' And sank in senseless apathy. 

" ' My eyes, when T revived, were thrown. 
" ' Ah me ! upon a bower unknown — 
" ' A gorgeous place, profusely gay 
" c With strange and undesired array, 
" ' And all the landscape in my view 
" i liencath its lattices was new. 
" ' I thought upon my simple home, 
" c And scorned for it the lordly dome 



99 

" e Which was my gilded prison — where 
" i I wept what none around could share- 
" e A solitude from which restraint 
" ' Took the sad solace of complaint. 

" ' My guardian had resigned his trust 
" ' To one Avhom passion made unjust, 
" c Who offered unrequited love, 
" * Yet held the maid he could not move ; 
" { My suitor first, and then my guard — 
" ( By either name alike ill-starred. 

" l When my captivity began, 
" i Its course in silent sorrow ran, 
" ' Disturbed by his attempts to gain 
" e What he believed not sought in vain — 
" l A female heart, perhaps, alarmed, 
" { Yet still to be consoled and charmed; 
ei ( But, with his loss of hope, arose 
" c More fearful, and severer woes— 



100 

" k Much which I pass, recalling, more 

" ' Than memory retains, I bore : 

" e For oh ! my dread of violence 

" ' Bewildered each conflicting sense, 

" ' And apprehensions of the worst 

" c Left me unconscious when it burst. 

" ' To nights, in sleepless anguish worn, 

" f And woes, fresh springing with the morn- 

" ' Sad morn, reviving me to grieve, 

" ' And weariness of thought at eve, 

" i To one dear hope, the last — the first — 

" ' In ill, almost in phrenzy, nursed, 

" ( Succeeded silence so profound — 

" c Such tacitness to all around, 

" ' That he believed me won, and bade 

" * The nuptial pageant be arrayed : 

" ' (So of my gentle handmaids they 

" < Who watched my slow revival, say) 

" l My malady seemed virgin guise 

" ( In an impatient lover's eyes ; 



101 

" ' And those who in his hand placed mine 

« i Were all too busy to divine 

" { That aught unwonted lurked beneath 

" e My bridal coronet and wreath. 

" i But, when the twilight? hour arose, 

" i And I was led to my repose, 

" ' Some consciousness of where I passed, 

" { Sudden and horrid, long my last, 

« i Urged me to grief so stern and high 

" l That it dispelled the mystery, 

" i And told my miserable state 

" ' To all around, alas ! too late. 

" ' No care of joyful matrons spread 

" i The pillow for my wretched head, 

" ( Almost to dissolution low 

" ( In agony of mortal woe ; 

" e But, in tumultuous affright, 

" ' They hurried from the imperfect rite ; 

" ' The bridegroom shuddered as he came, 

" c Then, hastening to conceal his shame, 



102 

" ' Left for the field at evening fall, 
" * Unblessed, his bride and native hall. 

" ' Before he sought his home again, 
" ' My reason had resumed its reign ; 
" e And grief, transferring, by degrees, 
" * To this frail form my mind's disease, 
" ( Had left me just sufficient force 
" i To linger on my wretched course, 
" ' Not energy to bear, or shun 
ee ( Fresh sorrows — but I suffered none. 
" s He yielded to his hapless part, 
" £ Compelled by his imperious heart 
" ' To look, and love, ungratified ; 
" ' Oh ! had it been more early tried, 
" ( We should have saved a futile vow, 
" ' And all were well, not anguish now : 
" ' Yet ever sanguine to reclaim 
" * My heart from its unhappy flame, 
" ' He saw the flushing of my cheek 
" ' For one I dared not wish to seek, 



103 

** * And held, a wretched captive thing, 
fi ' Her whom he loved to worshipping. 

" ' My days have been a dream — a shade- 
" e A death impending, yet delayed : 
" c He now with fatal malady 
" e Strives, eager, yet averse to die. 
" i The vassals in alarm had spared 
" f The wonted order of their guard — 
" ' Argulio aided my request 
" i To sleep where I was happiest — 
" { I summoned my remaining strength, 
" l And have attained thus far, at length ; 
" ' And though behind yon smooth green hill 
" ( My home be unsaluted still, 
" ( This lovely spot was sometime dear, 
" ( And I' might part contented here. 
" i He is at watch on yonder height, 
" ' Lest any intercept my flight. 

" 6 But I have erred to entertain 
" ' A holy man with theme so vain, 



104 

' ' And oh ! the moments which I need 

' ' F»r shrift and absolution speed. 

' ( There's something that afflicts my heart — 

' ' Prove — purify it, ere I part ! 

' ' It to a nameless one accords 

: ' The thoughts, which should have been my 
Lord's, 

; c By troth to whom, however plighted, 

: ' My love and I are disunited ; 

' ' And, in these moments, I have wept 

1 e That I have nought he can accept — 

' ' Not even an enfranchised vow, 

' ' In expiration to bestow. 

' c Oh ! for how many days repressed, 

' * The thought of him had seemed at rest ! 

' ' But here, alas ! in vain I strive — 

c ' Youthful remembrances survive; 

' ' My little strength too soon resigned, 

c ' And somewhat sympathizing mind, 
1 Have failed me at a place unsought, 
' Which even now recalls that thought. 



105 

" ' There was a voice, as I awoke — 

" ' O Father ! I believed he spoke, 

u ' And strove unguarded eyes to raise — 

" c Strange fancies followed on my gaze 5 

" ' Perhaps, alas ! my sight was dim, 

" ' But, while you pray, I think of him — 

" ' These dear infirmities debase 

" f My last aspirings after grace, 

" ' I strive to banish them in vain, 

" ' They but deceive me, and remain. 

" ' So fond, and fruitlessly resolved, 

" ' May I be comforted — absolved ? — 

" " Absolved ! O patient goodness ! blessed !' 

" f Father ! you lull my heart to rest, 

" i It was not vain, the wish which led 

" l To thy sweet counsel Ethelfled.' 

" Exhausted, happily she sank, 
" And passed the bitter cup I drank, 
" While gazing in her altered face, 
" But for that last look's lingering grace — 



106 

" The cadent sweetness of her tone, 

" Unrecognized, almost unknown. 

" Ah ! whither veered not then my mind 

" What thoughts resisted, and resigned ? 

" To name myself — Oh ! one caress 

" Were cruelty, not tenderness. 

" In priestly offices to close 

" Her eyes, unnamed — the last I chose. 

K But, on my purpose incomplete 
" Broke busy sounds — the dint of feet — 
" Two strangers to the chamber sped, 
" Breathless, and by Argulio led. 
" f Lady,' he cried, c awake ! arise ! 
<( ' No further fear ! no more disguise ! 
" { Your miserable lord has passed — ' 
" She trembled, and looked up aghast, 
" The vassals, as they met her eye, 
" Presented homage silently, 
" And, ' Adhelm smiles upon his bride,' 
" 1 said, but scarcely had replied, 



107 

" Ere those subduing hands were wound 
" My stretched out arm — my neck around. 
" I saw my cheek that faint rose join — 
" Received her breath, embalming mine — 
" Felt the dear burthen which I bore — 
" Retrieved — to part in life no more. 

" ( My oAvn, and ever loved !' she said, 
" ' How has a moment overpaid — 
" ( Out-paragoned my suffering ! 
" * Now, heavenward when my soul has wing, 

" l It will like summer morning fleet, 

%■ 
" ' As soft, as silent, and as sweet/ 

" The consciousness serened her eye — 
" Her blessed thought was prophecy ; 
" For of all sainted spirits, gone 
" To our first mortal parent, none, 
" In suffering humanity, 
" So looked on death, content to die. 



108 

" Oh ! with what eloquence she poured 

" Each humblest, holiest, happiest word ! 

" Then waited while 1 bade Amen, 

" And she found strength for prayer again, 

" Or, in the affection of her mind 

" Revived — so wonderfully kind ! — 

" The hours of our endearments passed 

" Were all remembered in her last, 

" And yet she taught me to resign 

" Our earthly love for love divine. 

" As Heaven had dealt with her no less 

" Than in parental graciousness, 

" She asked to be assured that I 

ce Would live and guard her memory. 

" Swift fled our moments, 'till, as morn 
" Drew brightening to its fatal dawn, 
" Rudic, who knelt by us, rose up, 
" And, wresting from my hands the cup, 
" Whence ever and anon I shed 
" Drops on her lips, or bathed her head, 



109 

" Replaced it with the holy oil ; 

" She marked his action by a smile, 

" And, as I bowed myself to sign 

" Her brow, impressed a kiss on mine. 

" Then turned to me her fixing eye, 

" With one long look — one lingering sigh- 

" c I am, of miserable, blest,' 

" Was all she said, and sank to rest." 



Thou ! whom, perhaps, the tale I sing, 
And thine own sympathy may bring, 
In some sad moment, to survey 
The vale where Avon's waters stray 
Beneath the woodlands which surround 
Braden's once dedicated ground ; 
To hear the careless shepherd raise 
His song, where swelled the hymn of praise, 
And gain the choir, a garden now, 
Where yet some solemn yew trees grow, 



110 

The broken cloisters that remain 

Of those which once embraced the fane, 

And that imperfect cross of stone, 

Where then the moonbeam brightly shone ; 

Remember, that beneath its shade, 

By Ethelfled is Adhelm laid : 

Valance and Amice had been wed 

Upon the morn his spirit fled ; 

He blessed their re-united love, 

And sought his better hope above. 



NOTES. 



113 



Notes. 



Twos thus of old, 



Some brother, when his vows were told, 
At Braden, cried. — P. 1. 

Bradenstoke, in Wiltshire, on the south side of Braden 
Forest, between Christian Melford and Lyneham, had formerly 
a priory, and was a seat of the Dukes of Somerset. 

Gazetteer. 

The remains of this mansion, which can be traced to have 
been of great extent, now inhabited as a farm house, are 
extremely simple. I have been principally interested in the 
selection of it for the scene of my story, by the beauty of its 



114 



situation, midway in the reach of a very fine and bold ridge of 
hills, intersect* I al one extremity by the road from Oxford to 
Bath, commanding a rich and extensive country watered by 
the Avon, and covered at the other by continued woods. 



Those placed the loftiest vats, &;c. — P. 4. 

The game intended to be here described is almost peculiar 
to Wiltshire, and is still retained by the population of that 
country, with all the predilection of their forefathers. They 
number its most successful champions at the present day. It 
bears with them the name of backsword. 

Among the more simple, the stage for the contest is formed 
precisely in the manner described in the poem. The challenge 
is given by throwing down a hat. A hat is the conqueror's 
usual prize. The two combatants are attended by umpires, 
who confine the left hand of each with a handkerchief to the 
thigh, arm either with a ground-ash stick, stripped of the 
bark, obtuse at one end, and fitted at the other with a basket 
guard. The attack is aimed at the head only : the most ap- 
proved mode of annoy and defence is to keep the arm steadily 
fixed, and trust to the action of the wrist ; and the effusion 
of one drop of blood is decisive of the contest. 



115 



Through seas, ivhlch murmured hoarse reply 
To the Crusader s victory. — P. 6. 

King Richard the First, on his return from Palestine, not 
daring to pass through France, sailed to the Adriatic, and was 
shipwrecked near Aquiliea. 



Thy rescue, and thy glory, those 

Henry ! at Ag'incourt arose, 

And rushed, where Temo'is ivaters streamed, 

A race devoted and redeemed. — P. 7. 

Henry, finding the passage clear, forded the river (Somme) 
between St. Quintin and Peronne, and advancing to Blagney, 
where he passed the small river of Ternois, perceived the 
whole French army on the march towards Rousseauville and 
Agincourt, which lay in his route to Calais. He found himself 
in the midst of an enemy's country, during the severest season 
of the year, at the head of a handful of men, exhausted by 
distemper and fatigue, while a prodigious army, amounting to 
one hundred thousand fighting men, blocked up the passage to 
the only place where he could expect to find shelter and 



116 



assistance. He gave his soldiers plainly to understand they 
had no resource from death or captivity, but in the extra- 
ordinary efforts of their own valour. After the victory, Henry 
inarched back to Marcoucelly, where he had encamped the 
preceding night, in order that his troops might be more 
conveniently refreshed, and next day proceeded on his route 
to Calais. 



From Hlndon, then a sylvan name. — P. 10. 

Hindon is a small borough town in Wiltshire, the name of 
Inch is adopted by the Earls of Clarendon in their second title. 



TIw canopy of Severnec. — P. 10. 



This name (properly Savernake) belongs to a part of 
Marlborough Forest, the beautiful domain of Lord Aylesbury, 
about fifteen miles from Braden. 



The solitary field ivas won, #c.— P. 10. 
While travelling near Oxford, in a morning of the autumn 



117 



of the year 1813, I saw the beautiful effect of a rainbow, 
produced by the sun shining upon a valley filled with thick 
mist. The vapour floated in large clouds from before the sun's 
disk, and the sky above was a cloudless blue, deepening as 
the fog melted away. 



And larger than reality — P. 11. 

The effect of fog is to subdue the colour of objects, without 
diminishing their size, and, consequently, causes every thing 
to appear more remote, but larger than it really is. 



The hapless fool his hue betrayed. — P. 11. 

Duke Sen. " Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? 
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, — 
Being native burghers of this desert city, — 
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads 
Have their round haunches gored." 

Shakspeare. As yon like it. 



118 



From lofty Hacbens southern brink. — P. 21. 

This name is given to one of the highest of a fine ridge of 
hills, the boundary of Marlborough Downs, which is divided 
by the road to Wootten Basset, winding obliquely from its 
declivity. 



Cut through the glaciated steep 

A rugged arch three fathom deep. — P. 22. 

This passage is suggested by a circumstance which occurred 
in the country chosen for the scene of the poem, after the 
winter 1813-14, there remarkably severe and distressing. 



119 



Such, amid olive groves and shrines, 

August Antiparos confines 

Within the bosom of her plain. — P. 22. 

The following description of the celebrated grotto of 
Antiparos is extracted from one contained in a work, entitled, 
" Letters from several parts of Europe and the East," written 
in the year 1750. 

" The grotto is a vast vault, the roof arched and irregular, 
the pavement, in some places, very eveiL, and in others rough 
enough. The sides, which in most places form sweeps of 
circles, are, in some, of the naked rock, but in others, they 
are covered with an infinite number of incrustations. The 
height of the roof is about fourscore feet. The length of the 
grotto about three hundred ; its breadth nearly as much. The 
greatest depth is towards the middle, but not exactly in the 
centre. We were now between nine hundred and one thousand 
feet from the surface of the ground where we came in. 

" The matter which forms these incrustations, is, in other 
places, often very clear and bright, but it is no where so pure 
as in this. It is here perfect bright chrystal, and the whole 
surface of the cavern, roof, floor, and sides, is covered with it. 
The form into which it is thrown exceeds the materials. The 
light of the flambeaux was reflected at once, from above, from 



120 



below., ami from all sides; and, as it was thrown hack from 
angle to angle among the ornaments of the roof and sides, gave 
all the colours of the rainbow. 

" AW entered a grove of chrystal trees. The floor was in 

general of a smooth glossy spar, hut give me leave to call it 
chrystal, of which it has all the appearances. We walked on 
this bright pavement in a kind of serpentine nneandcr, among 
shrubs and taller masses of this chrystal, rising from the 
common pavement with large and thick stems, and spreading 
out into heads and tufts of branches. Some of these were 
from eight to ten feet high; the generality between two and 
five feet. They were all of the same materials as the floor ; 
and what added greatly to their beauty, as well as to the 
resemblance to trees, was, that they were not smooth on the 
surface, but covered all over with little shining points. These, 
when examined, appeared to be pyramids of the same matter. 
At some distance from the entrance we came up to a pillar of 
chrystal, seven feet in height, and more than a foot in diameter: 
this rises immediately from the floor, and is of equal thickness 
to the top; its surface is very glossy, and of a pure and perfect 
bistre. About this there stand three or four others, of four 
feet high, and a proportionate thickness ; one of these has been 
broken, and the piece lays by it. 

" The sides of the grotto next came into consideration. In 
some places the plain rock is covered with a vast sheet of this 
chrystal, like a cake of ice spread evenly over it, and of the 



121 



thickness of an inch or two, its surface perfectly smooth, and 
every where following the shape of the rock. In other places 
this sheet of chrystal is s variegated with a strange quantity of 
irregular and modulated figures, all over its surface : these were 
in some spots more raised, in others less, but their mseanders 
very beautiful. In other parts, where the walls were so 
prominent that drops from the roof could reach them, there 
grew from their surface, in the same manner as from the floor, 
shrubs of chrystal ; but these were in general lower and more 
spreading than those of the floor. In some places the sheet of 
chrystal, instead of clinging immediately to the wall, or rock, 
stood out a distance from it, forming a kind of curtain of pure 
pellucid matter. These curtains of chrystal were not plain, 
but folded and plaited, and their undulations added not a little 
to their beauty. 

" It yet remains that I describe the roof of this wonderful 
place. In some places there diverged rays of pure and glossy 
chrystal in the manner of a star from a lucid centre, stretching 
themselves to two or three yards diameter 3 in another, clus- 
ters like vast branches of grapes hung down 3 and from others 
there were continued festoons, loose in the middle, but fixed 
at either end, and formed of a vast variety of foliage, fruit, 
and flowers. There is a rudeness in all these, that would, 
wherever one saw them, speak them the absolute work of 
nature 3 but art would be proud to imitate them. At every 
little space between these, there hang the stalactites, or stony 



122 



icicles, as they arc called, in a surprizing number, but of a 
magnitude mucb more surprizing. Some of these have doubt- 
less been many hundred years in forming, and they are from 
ten to twenty or thirty feet in length. One hangs nearly from 
the centre of the grotto, which must be considerably more 
than that : it is eight or nine feet longer than all the others, 
and, at the base, seems five or six feet in diameter. It is a 
cone in form, and its point tolerably fine. Nearly under the 
centre of the arch there is a little pyramid of natural congela- 
tions of the shrubby kind, of those I have already mentioned 
to»you. It is the finest cluster in the whole floor, and is 
ornamented with a parcel of festoons and cones, from the 
overhanging part of the roof, which make a kind of attic story 
to it. Behind it is one of the natural closets, curtained off 
from the main hollow of the grotto, and full of beautiful con- 
gelations. They call this pyramid the altar. Some of the 
pieces have been cut down, and upon the basis of the pyramid 
we read an inscription that puzzled us extremely : " Hie ipse 
Christus adfuit, ejus natali die, media nocte celebrataV' There 
was a date of 1673 annexed; but, not being of the Romish 
communion, we could by no means make out the meaning of 
the words, till our guides had informed US (hat a French person 
of quality, Ambassador to the Porte, had caused mass to be 
celebrated there, with great solemnity, on Christmas Day, at 
thai time, and had spent two or three days in the grotto with 
a very numerous company.'' 



123 



To Vashterris tower in Tokenham Vale. — P, 28. 

Tokenham in Wiltshire, to the south-west of Wootton Bas- 
set, was a manor, forfeited by the two Spensers, favourites of 
Edward the Second. King Edward the Third gave it to his 
son, the Duke of York ; and two centuries before the present, 
a Duke of York, that was his descendant, had his seat, and 
made a very large park here. One of the late Dukes of 
Somerset had this seat. West Tokenham belonged to Braden- 
stoke Abbey, and was held by lease by the Danvers family 
for many generations. 



the Regent's mandate. — P. 32. 



Richard Duke of York, who succeeded the Duke of Bedford 
as Regent of France in the year 1349. 



124 



III. 



Aslope the lengthening sunbeams shot 
O'er Father A dhelm s favorite spot. — P. 3c 

And the slope sun his upward beam, 
Shoots against the dusky pole, 



Youthful so late, his darkened brow 

That day was white with age's snow. — P. 37. 

I was acquainted with a French gentleman, resident in this 
country at the commencement of the Revolution, who has 
assured me that violent emotion, occasioned by his hearing an 
account of the murder of his mother, who had been assassinated 
in her house at Paris by the populace, caused his hair to turn 
grey in one night. 



125 



Miss Johanna Baillie, in her tragedy on the passion of 
hatred, has beautifully introduced an incident of the same 
nature. 

Jer. " Merciful Heaven ! his hair is grisly grown, 
Changed to white age, what was but two days since 
Black as the raven's plume. How may this be ? 

Bern. Such change from violent conflict of the mind 
Will sometimes come." 

De Montfort. 



IFith wondrous sensibility. — P. 42. 

" And with affection wondrous sensible 

He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted." 

Merchant of Venice. 



" Loveliest and most forlorn ! farewell .'" 
" All hail to the beatified .'" — P. 43. 

The contrast here is in imitation of the following beautiful 
extempore epitaph attributed to Mr. Hayter. 
" Too soon, alas !" affection cries, 
" Her spirit mounted to the skies." 
" Absent too long !" the angels say, 
" Come sister to the realms of day." 



126 



And shall /re not to kindred dust 

Our loveliest and most graceful trust ? $c. — P. 48. 

This sentiment is in Xenophon's speech of the dying Cyrus 
to his children. 

To 8 tfj.lv 0-Zfj.a,, 5 iraf&e? otccv TtXeimja-fc', pjTe ev %pt«r5 Br t re, pjTe 
cv apyvpu, jw.y;Se ev aXKw fwfiev!. A'XXa t^ yt\ u<; ra.yj.ara. avobore. 
Tlyap rovru pa.v.apturepov rov yv\ fj.iy^Orjva.i , t\ tiovra yAv ra. v.cc}.a, TravTa 
Se ra.ya.6a. <pvei re v.at rpe'(pei ; Eyw v.ai aXXui; <f>t\av6paito<; iyevofxyv, 
y.at vh vfiias av poi SojtS Mivavycrai rov cvepyeitovvms avBpumvi;. 



127 



IV. 



His sacristan, Edivellyn, bowed. — P. 54. 

Sacristan was a treasurer of the utensils or moveables of the 
church. 



The careless hours of simple men, 
Rejoicing, and religious too. — P. 55. 

In one of the divisions of the " Sentimental Journey," 
entitled " the Grace," Sterne has fully and beautifully illus- 
trated this imagination. 

" It was not till the middle of the second dance when, from 
some pauses in the movement, wherein they all seemed to look 
up, I fancied I could distinguish an elevation of spirit, different 
from that which is the cause or the effect of simple jollity. 



12S 



In a word, I thought I beheld religion mingling in the dance, 

but, as I had never seen her so engaged, I should have looked 
upon it now as one of the illusions of an imagination, which is 
eternally misleading me, had not the old man, as soon as the 
dance was ended, said that this was their constant way ; and 
that all his life long he had made it a rule, after supper was 
over, to call out his family to dance and rejoice, believing, he 
said, that a cheerful and contented mind was the best sort of 
thanks to Heaven that an illiterate peasant could pay." 



And I shall conquer in this sign, 
Imperial Lord ! — P. 57. 

'* Constantine the Great, in prosecutiug his expedition into 
Italy against Maxentius, having resolved to lay aside the vulgar 
deities, and adhere to the God of his father to whom he humbly 
addressed himself, beseeching him to make himself known 
to him, and assist him in this expedition ; Heaven heard his 
prayer, and answered it in a manner so miraculous, that 
Eusebius acknowledges it would not have been credible, if he 
had not received it from the emperor's own mouth, who 
ratified the truth of it with his oath. 

The army was upon their march, and Constantine seriously 
employed in these devout ejaculations, when, the sun declining, 
there suddenly appeared a pillar of light in the Heavens in the 



129 



fashion of a cross, with this inscription about or upon it, 
TovtS viv.a, " In this overcome." This was a surprising sight 
to Constantine and his whole army ; and the commanders and 
officers, prompted by their auspices, looked upon it as an 
inauspicious omen, portending a very unfortunate expedition. 
But it made such a happy impression on the emperor's mind, 
that being farther encouraged by visions that night, he caused 
the next day a royal standard (or labarum) to be made like 
that which he had seen in the Heavens, and to be borne before 
him in his wars, as an ensign of victory and safety." 

Echard's Roman History. 

M. Ladvocat, in his Biographical Dictionary, under the head 
Constantine, has it, that the sign or monogram which was seen 
by the emperor, was properly a P cut by a strait line. 

The music of their sad farewell 

As from the fabled image fell. — P. 5$. 

The famous statue of Memnon, the son of Tithonus and 
Aurora, which, according to the fable, sent forth sounds of 
rejoicing, when the rays of the sun fell upon it, and lamentation, 
when they were withdrawn. 

A spear among ten thousand seen. — P. 58. 

Was there a shield or spear seen among forty thousand in 
Israel ? 

Song of Deborah and Barak. 



130 



Above the softly lavish sense 

Of all hut the first pair who loved. — P. 67- 

The idea of regarding our first parents as a model for 
conjugal affection has been pursued by Mrs. Hannah More with 
peculiar beauty and delicacy in several parts of her work from 
which the following passage is quoted. 

" Our mutual admiration of the " Paradise Lost," and its 
" heroine, seemed to bring us nearer together than we had yet 
" been." 



fVho, upon Liddel's lofty brink, 

Let slip their greyhounds from the link. — P. 74. 

Liddel Hill is one of the highest summits of the down between 
Swindon and Marlborough, and is in the vicinity of a spot 
chosen at the present day for the field sport alluded to in the 
poem. 



131 



Wyng Cliff's height.—?. 80. 



Wyng Cliff, or Wyng Hill, one of the loftiest points in 
Monmouthshire, rises almost immediately behind Piercefield. 
The view described in the text is from an eminence near the 
ascent, and appears to be one of those distinguished by Mr. 
Gilpin, in his book on the river Wye and South Wales, by the 
following observations. 

" The views on this side are not the romantic steeps of 
" the Wye : but though of another species, they are equally 
" grand. They are chiefly distances, consisting of the vast 
" waters of the Severn, here an arm of the sea ; bounded by a 
" remote country— of the mouth of the Wye entering the 
" Severn — and of the town of Chepstow, and its castle and 
" abbey ." 



132 



VI. 



lite hill and beaten road, 



And passed beside the narroiv cleft 

By yon long- scattered village left, £><?. — P. 89. 

After passing the hill and following the road alluded to in the 
first note, Lyneham, a small scattered village, intervenes. The 
cleft at the eastern end of it, mentioned in the poem, contains a 
store of water, principally obtained from land rills, and confined 
by dams, for the purpose of supplying a water mill, by which 
it escapes in a narrow channel through a romantic pass, the 
only one in the vicinity which can boast a stream, wi uplands 
on each side, across the vale of Tokenham. A small tract of 
heath lays on the further side of the cleft, and both are crossed 
by a footpath leading to Dantsey, a village in the valley, where 
is the mansion of the late Earl of Peterborough. 



133 



But, while you pray, I think of him ' — P. 105. 

This passage is in recollection of that most beautiful one in 
the " Winter's Tale" of Shakspeare, in which the art of the 
poet has almost prevented that of the tragedian. 

Leon. " I'd beg your precious mistress, 

Which he counts but a trifle. 

Paul. Sir ! my liege ! 

Your eye hath too much youth in't ■ Not a month 
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes 
Than what you look on now. 

Leon. I thought of her 

Even in those looks I made." 

Winter's Tale, Act 5, Scene I. 

For of all sainted spirits, gone 

To our first mortal parent. — P. 107. 

" I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." 

Samuel 2, Chap. 12. 

Or, in the affection of her mind 
Revived, so iconderfully kind! — P. 108. 

The following pathetic narrative of the like behaviour in 
death is extracted from Dr. Atterbury, the Bishop of Rochester's 
letter to Mr. Pope, on the demise of the bishop's daughter. 



134 



" I am not yet master enough of myself, after the late 
wound I have received, to open my very heart to you, and am 
not content with less than that whenever I converse with you. 
My thoughts are, at present, vainly, but pleasingly employed 
on what I have lost and can never recover. The earnest 
desire of meeting one I dearly loved, called me abruptly to 
Montpelier • where, after continuing two months under the 
cruel torture of a sad and fruitless expectation, I was forced 
at last to take a long journey to Toulouse ; and even there I 
had missed the person I sought, had she not with great spirit 
and courage ventured all night up the Garonne to see me, 
which she above all things desired to do before she died. By 
that means she was brought where I was between seven and 
eight in the morning, and lived twenty hours afterwards ; 
which time was not lost on either side, but passed in such a 
manner as gave great satisfaction to both, and such as on her 
part every way became her circumstances and character. For 
she had her senses to the last gasp, and exerted them to give 
me, in those few hours, greater marks of duty and love than she 
had done in all her life time, though she had never been 
wanting in either. The last words she said to me, were the 
kindest of all 5 a reflection on the goodness of God which had 
allowed us in this manner to meet once more, before we parted 
for ever. Not many minutes after that, she laid herself on her 
pillow, in a sleeping posture, 

Pladdaque ibi demum morte quievit." 



135 



She ask'd to be assured that I 

Would live and guard her memory. — P. 108. 

" — Horatio, what a wounded name, 
Things standing thus unknown shall live behind me ? 
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, 
Absent thee from felicity awhile, 
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, 
To tell my story." 

Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2. 



I am, of miserable, blest. — P. 109. 

In the speech of Adam after the fall, in the tenth book of 
Paradise Lost, beginning with the words " O miserable of 
happy." A peculiar beauty arises from the abrupt contrast 
which I have endeavoured to render applicable to Ethelfled. 



THE END. 



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